


(You don't have to be) A ghost among the living

by BlueMoonRoses



Series: Horror Movies [1]
Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Co-workers, M/M, Sort Of, This is heavily AU, please read the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-10-18 05:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonRoses/pseuds/BlueMoonRoses
Summary: All you know is that your first impression of Michael Myers is‘Wow, he’s tall,’and‘Maybe now I don’t have to hunt down a ladder every time I need something from the top shelves of the supply closets.’-*-Or: The Night Shift is Stranger Than You Think





	1. JJ: Before the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Little Faith, A Little Trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782979) by [Skullfuggery (OverwatchingYouSleep)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/Skullfuggery). 



> I really enjoyed [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782979/chapters/39385678) and it inspired to write (and also I'm horribly impatient).
> 
> This is mostly based off of the 2007 remake (we don't talk about the 2009 sequel), but there are elements of the original 1978 movie mixed in as well; I won't reveal which parts just yet because they'll come up in later chapters. I moved Smith's Grove Sanitarium to be a lot closer to Haddonfield instead of being 150 miles away, because otherwise it would take roughly 2 hours (at 60mph) to get there and that just didn't really work for this AU. So now it's like, about 20 minutes outside of town.
> 
>  
> 
> **Also, a heads up: there's past mentioned/implied rape, but it's not of any of the main characters (it's mostly just referencing that one scene in the 2007 remake).**
> 
>  
> 
> Despite this being a "reader/you" fic - I haven't written a Second Person POV in years, so I wanted to give it a go again - I also decided to name the character JJ (mostly for writing convenience).
> 
> Also, I don't know enough ASL to actually describe it well in writing, so I took a little artistic liberty for the parts where JJ uses ASL.
> 
> I am open to constructive criticism!

“Hey, JJ, you got a sec?”

You look up from the front desk’s computer screen to find your boss – Olivia, a woman in her late forties, brown hair tinged grey at the temples – leaning against the counter. She waits patiently as you try to figure out if today is verbal day or not; sometimes it takes you a long while to figure it out, but that’s why you prefer working the late shifts. Almost no one bothers you at half past midnight, and if they do, you’re usually able to at least find the strength for a few words here and there.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again, but find the words aren’t working with you tonight.

With a quiet sigh, you lift your hands up and sign instead.

_‘Sure, boss. What’s up?’_

“Well, y’know how the night security position hasn’t been filled yet?” Olivia asks, a smile trying to force its way onto her face; you stifle a groan, because if this is going where you think it’s going, she’s going to be severely disappointed.

 _‘Look, if you’re about to ask me if I want the job, I need to remind you that I’m barely 5’10 and only weigh one-eighty-five on a good day, so I’m really not all that intimidating for security. I couldn’t even scare a Chihuahua,’_ you sign with a wry grin that makes Olivia laugh.

“Oh, sweetie, have a little faith in yourself; you could probably scare a really tiny Chihuahua, if you really put some effort into it,” Olivia tells him with a chuckle. “But relax, I’m not asking you to take on security.”

With an exaggerated sigh of relief, you slump back into your chair as Olivia rolls her eyes at your dramatics.

“Okay, your dramatic highness, take it down a notch. Ruined my shocking reveal and everything,” she grumbles, but there’s no real anger behind it. “Look, I just wanted to let you know before I leave for the night that the position has been filled.”

You raise a questioning eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. Which she does, because this is Olivia and she’s always excited about good news, but the slight fidget in her hands tells you that it’s not completely good news. Depending on what it is. As far as you’re concerned, as long as it’s someone else taking up security and you no longer have to worry about possibly getting shivved in the parking lot, this is fantastic news.

_‘What’s the catch?’_

“Well…” Olivia drawls, not quite looking at you. “I got a call from Smith’s Grove, asking if the hotel would be willing to—”

You throw your hands up in the air in silent frustration; Smith’s Grove? _Smith’s Grove?_ Everyone and their _grandmother_ has heard about how awful that place is and has been for _years,_ yet somehow the place hasn’t been shut down.

“– participate in a new Work-Release therapy program they have,” Olivia continues, slightly raising her voice as if you’d verbally displayed your distaste of Smith’s Grove instead of silently. “And yes, I know, Smith’s Grove wouldn’t exactly be my first choice to help out, but I figured it’d do someone some good to spend a few hours a night away from there.”

… She does have a point.

Your shoulders sag and you lift your hands once more to ask _‘Who is it?’_

Not like you’d know anyway, but still.

Olivia hums quietly as she flips through her stack of paperwork, “Says here it’s a one Michael Myers. He’s about your age, I think.”

The name seems familiar, but you can’t quite place it; it buzzes in the back of your skull. You _know_ you’ve heard that name before, and now it’s going to bug you until you remember.

Your boss leaves after making sure you have your set of keys on you, and then you’re left with only your thoughts, at 11pm in the near silent hotel lobby, the pitch dark night just on the other side of glass double doors.

-*-

There are no late night room service calls from the few guests they have tonight, no calls from someone needing a room for the night.

You while away the hours the way you usually do on nights like tonight; you make coffee in the back room that doubles as the security room, let one of your many playlists play softly on the computer while you clean, try to get a little farther in the most recent book you picked up from the library, trying to decide what you want to eat when you get home while making sure everything is ready for the day crew.

Y’know, the usual.

-*-

Out of boredom – and curiosity – you Google _‘Smith’s Grove Sanitarium.’_

It’s going to piss you off; you _know_ it’s going to piss you off, because Smith’s Grove is… it’s like it tries to embody and reinforce every bad horror movie cliché and demonizing stereotype that _“people with mental illnesses are all scary and bad”_ and you can already feel a slow-boiling anger thrumming away beneath your skin.

Ugh, you’re gonna wreck your blood pressure and you’re not even twenty-five yet.

The only recent articles about the place you can find date back to last year and are about a scandal involving a Dr. Loomis who apparently wrote a book about a patient of his without permission (from either the patient or the patient’s family), but one look at his quote about the patient _(“[Name Redacted] has the devil’s eyes; it took me years, but I realized what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... evil.”),_ which is, quite frankly, enough for you to close out the tab entirely. You’re just glad that this asshole was fired, because that kind of attitude about one of his _patients_ doesn’t help anyone, and quite honestly, as far as you’re concerned, with that kind of view about someone who is mentally ill, Loomis probably shouldn’t have been allowed to even work there.

(And that’s not even mentioning the other news articles about the two security guards who were arrested for sexually assaulting the patients. That pisses you off more than Loomis, but at least they’re in prison now – and apparently one of the other patients had beaten the shit out of them, so there’s some small justice you suppose.) 

But then again, this is Smith’s Grove and they weren’t exactly all that great to begin with.

Your right knee begins to bounce, impatience and frustration welling up within you. Fuck, you need to get up, move around, but there are questions flying around your head and you won’t be getting any answers for them. It’s not like you can march up to Smith’s Grove and demand answers, and while you _could_ probably find a way to contact this Dr. Loomis, you know you won’t; you’d only end up ripping this guy a new one and honestly, you’d rather keep him as far away from you as possible.

With a frustrated huff, you push away from the desk and head into the back room.

You need more coffee.

-*-

“Up and at ‘em, kiddo!”

Downing a second pot of coffee was a bad idea.

Cracking one bleary eye open, all you can see is Harvey’s grinning, far too chipper for five in the morning, face.

You get up with a groan and rub tiredly at your eyes, trying to get them to focus. That second pot of coffee was a _really_ bad idea and you wish you could go back and stop yourself from making it.

“Party too hard last night?” Harvey asks cheerfully as he ruffles your hair. Swatting at his hand, you decide to try for your voice because you’re not really awake enough to try focusing on signing. No, you’re still far too focused on that jackass, Dr. Loomis, and Smith’s Grove’s lack of standards, and trying to figure out who the hell Michael Myers is and why his name is so familiar to you.

“Something like that,” you manage to croak out as you start gathering your things; you need to shower and a lot of sleep and you still have no clue what you want to eat and—

“Get home safe, JJ,” Harvey calls after you. “Don’t need you falling asleep in the parking lot again!”

You flip him off and his boisterous laughter follows you out of the lobby.

-*-

The walk up to your apartment is the same as it always is; the old floorboards groan beneath your every step, the walls are that strange off-white yet not quite any other _actual_ color, and the light by the stairs flickers.

A sigh escapes you as you unwrap the soft, well-worn scarf from around your neck. This place is a wreck and you should probably look for somewhere else to live, but you don’t really have the time or money or even the energy to do so. Maybe if you found a roommate, but you’re not good at sharing living space with someone you barely know, and your night shift job doesn’t really make it easy to get to know people who you don’t work with (more like see at the beginning or end of your shifts, if you’re being honest).

Point is, you’re kinda stuck in this not great apartment building that looks like it’s one strong breeze away from collapsing. It’s not all bad, although the only good things about it that come to mind are _‘close enough to work and the store that you don’t need to drive’_ and _‘not a cardboard box.’_

Besides, you like your job enough to be fine with calling this place home.

Even if your key nearly breaks off in the lock. Again.

(You should probably get a spare made on your next day off… just in case.)

As soon as the front door of your tiny apartment shuts behind you, you strip down to nothing but your boxers and t-shirt as you make your way to bed; you’re too exhausted to even think about showering or eating right now.

Why do those things now when you can do them later and sleep instead?

You flop down, face first, onto your bed and as soon as your head hits the pillow you’re out like a light.

-*-

You wake up five minutes before the alarm on your phone goes off, feeling stiff and sore for no reason other than the fact you didn’t even try to lay down right on the old, lumpy mattress.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling for a while, watching the sunlight that dyes the off-white to a sort of pastel orange. Your eyes slip shut and you just… listen to the world go by outside; cars driving by, people going about their day…

It’s not enough to make you fall asleep again, but the loud buzzing from the nightstand finally gets you moving, grabbing your phone and the bottle of vitamin D pills.

(One of the drawbacks of working nightshift.)

On the way to bathroom, you check your messages; there’s a couple from Olivia, reminding you that the new Work-Release guy starts tonight, and there’s a shit ton of texts from the group chat, although most of them are just Harvey and Tanis spamming each other with pictures of cats. With a huff of fond amusement, you set your phone down on the bathroom counter before stepping into the shower.

It doesn’t take long – you tend to take short, efficient showers because the building doesn’t really have good water pressure after fifteen minutes – but by the time you shut off the water, your bathroom is filled with steam, the mirror fogged over completely.

Grabbing a towel, you start drying yourself off, your mind already going through a checklist of things you have to do once you get to work; it’ll just be you and the new guy – Michael Myers, whoever he is, you still have no clue other than his maddeningly familiar name – after Olivia leaves for the night, and that’s the part you’re kind of dreading. You’ve never been really extroverted, anxiety always gnawing away at you, and you hope that if tonight is another non-verbal day that it won’t throw the new guy off too much.

Leaning slightly over the counter, you use your towel to clean off the fogged over mirror and stare back at your blurry reflection, and eyes dark enough to be as black as obsidian stare back at you. Lifting a hand, and watching as your reflection does the same, you gently tug at your dark hair.

“You need a haircut,” you murmur to yourself. It’s long enough now (not quite down to your shoulders, not even past your sharp jawline, but it’s still just a little too long for your liking) that it’ll curl up something fierce when it dries – cowlicks and waves going off in various, annoying directions; you can’t remember the last time you got a haircut. 

_Maybe for Tanis and Gigi’s wedding a few months ago?_ you think idly, combing back your hair and hoping that when it dries it’ll stay back.

With a sigh, you push away from the counter and open the door, the steam rolling out with you, and get back to getting ready for the day. Night. Whatever.

-*-

As soon as you step into the lobby of the Haddonfield’s Respite _(seriously, who named this place?)_ it’s been nothing but _go, go, go._

The hotel is the same as it always is, but getting things set up for the long, uneventful night and helping day shift wind things down is always a bit too chaotic, and more than once you’ve had to shoo Harvey away from your stash of leftover Halloween candy that you keep in the bottom left drawer of the front desk.

So of course you don’t even notice when 8pm rolls around, you don’t notice that Harvey and the rest of the day crew has left, and you certainly don’t notice someone standing behind you until you turn around and walk right into a solid wall of muscle. Stumbling back, your gaze catches on piercing blue eyes watching you from behind a curtain of dark blond hair.

“Michael!” an unfamiliar voice splutters from behind the man – so this is Michael – and out of the corner of your eye you can see Olivia and a man in a Smith’s Grove uniform. “We’ve talked about this, you can’t just—”

But Michael doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to the man, and you kind of just tune the guy out too, but mostly out of quiet surprise than anything else.

The name is familiar, but this giant of a man you just ran into isn’t familiar at all. Maybe he just has one of those names, where you feel like you’ve heard it a thousand times? Or something. You don’t know. You’re not really sure what you were expecting now that you think about it.

All you know is that your first impression of Michael Myers is _‘Wow, he’s tall,’_ and _‘Maybe now I don’t have to hunt down a ladder every time I need something from the top shelves of the supply closets.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Notes:
> 
> JJ (You) - night shift, front desk  
> Olivia - hotel manager  
> Harvey - day shift, front desk  
> Tanis - day shift, kitchen crew
> 
> Chapter 2 should be along shortly!


	2. Michael: Before the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Michael or Laurie seems ooc (which they probably do, honestly. At least a little bit) please keep in mind that this is an AU, so this basically a world where a _"slightly less violent/impulsive Michael who doesn't go on murder rampages at the drop of a hat, although he will 10 out of 10 kick peoples asses"_ and a _"Laurie who grew up knowing she was adopted and that Michael and Judith are her siblings and she regularly visits Michael so they have a decent relationship that isn't them stabbing each other because Michael is bad at planning family reunions"_ exist.
> 
> Appearance-wise, Michael looks like his 2007 version (Tyler Mane, basically) and Laurie is kind of a mix between her 1978 and 2007 versions.
> 
> That and I'm still not completely sure how to write Michael (or Laurie), so I'm basically just winging it.
> 
> Judith is alive, but probably won't make much of an appearance in the story.

“This will be good for you, Michael,” Boo says while she channel surfs on the visitation lounge’s TV, before finally settling on Jumanji, one of the rare movies that’ll hold his interest that isn’t black and white. “I don’t want you stuck in here for the rest of your life, and you’ve made progress since that _jerk_ got fired. I still can’t believe he wrote that book, who does he think he is?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at Boo’s anger, which makes her grin when she sees his reaction; he never smiles and he never speaks, but Boo knows him like a well-worn map. This is why she’s always been his favorite sister – not that he hates Judith… well, not anymore. Maybe. Did he ever hate Judith? He hasn’t seen her in years, so he still hasn’t decided.

(The doctor who replaced Loomis has been trying to get him to form more positive familial attachments to the rest of his family, not just to Boo and their mom.)

Michael starts writing on the notebook that sits between them, handwriting still shaky and uneven after all this time.
    
    
    They told me it’ll be a night shift. And no mask.

His eyes go from crinkling to blank again. He knows why they won’t let him. Something about trying to break unhealthy habits. Or was it about learning not to rely on his masks?

“Promise me you’ll try your best?” Boo asks and Michael nods; he doesn’t want to be here forever either, even if Loomis is gone and won’t be back.

They sit in silence after that, watching the movie play out and swatting at each other every now and then, until a nurse peeks her head in the doorway. 

“Five minutes, Miss Strode.”

Boo sighs and lurches forward, her hand digging into the pocket of her coat and she tosses something small and gray at him.

“I already cleared it with the staff,” she tells him, nodding at the flip phone that looks ridiculously tiny in his hand. “Agreeing to the Work-Release has gotten you some privileges. If everything works out they’ll try moving you to a halfway house in town. So, y’know, don’t fuck it up.”

She rolls her eyes at his blank stare, and his hand holding the pencil barely twitches. “Yeah, yeah, _‘Judith won’t agree to that.’_ You let me worry about Judy, you focus on the job.”

As soon as Boo is out the door, Michael puts his mask back on and an orderly comes to lead Michael back to his room.

-*-

A boy named Michael Myers maimed his older sister and their mom’s boyfriend on Halloween night.

(A psychotic break.)

A boy named Michael Myers stopped talking after he was placed in the psychiatric care of Dr. Loomis.

(Boredom and… talking didn’t feel important anymore.)

When asked why he did the things he did, he never gave an answer, and if he had it wouldn’t have been one they liked. Some of the things he did weren’t necessarily out of malice, but to see if he could and what would happen if he did.

But Judith and Ronnie… those weren’t done out of curiosity.

“Please, sweetheart, you need to be careful,” his mom had pleaded with him, years ago when he was sent away.

Judith never said much of anything during the rare times she visited, either staring blankly back at him or watching him with suspicion.

“You have the devil’s eyes,” Dr. Loomis had said once, towards the end of his employment at Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. “No light, no anything. Just… _nothinginess.”_

“Learn some self-restraint,” Boo had told him nonchalantly on his birthday. “You’re curious, you don’t like being picked on, and you don’t care about consequences, but other people _do._ If you wanna know something, try asking before _doing._ Not everything is an insult.”

And then it was like a light bulb went off in the head of a man named Michael Myers.

-*-

“Here are your work clothes,” the orderly says as she hands him a stack of folded clothes (dark jeans and dark work shirts) with a pair of second-hand boots on top; it faintly reminds him of the clothing one could find down at the Goodwill he used to go to with his mom. “You’ll turn in your nametag and ID every morning when you return; you have permission to keep your phone with you when you come back, or turn it in with everything else.”

He says nothing and makes no expression behind his mask; not that any of the staff expect one. They’ve long since gotten used to his silence. As he heads back to his room to change, the orderly calls out after him.

“Leave your mask in your room, Myers!”

-*-

Off white and pale gray walls have been his whole world for nearly two decades.

Winding halls and rooms the size of a shoebox.

Eerily loud and unbearably silent.

Brick and mortar to keep the world out, and on some level, he knows Ismael had only meant well when he had suggested that he “live inside his own head” – and he does to an extent – but he’s never fully retreated into himself, despite what most people think; if he had, he doesn’t think he’d ever find his way out again. 

-*-

They make him pull his hair back, once he has finished changing.

“Either you keep it out of your face or we cut it off. Your choice.”

 _(“Hiding behind your hair counts as a mask, Michael,”_ the psychiatrist who replaced Loomis had told him. _“We need to get you to stop hiding. The masks are a crutch that are hindering you more than they help.”)_

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move – which makes the guard (someone new, someone he doesn’t even vaguely recognize) fidget – until Ismael carefully holds out a spare hair-tie, making sure not to touch.

“It’d just be easier to cut his hair,” the new guard mutters.

“If you wanna volunteer to do that, be my guest,” Ismael says blandly. “But I don’t think Mikey would appreciate that.”

No, no he wouldn’t. Despite being on the _‘good behavior’_ list, he’s not even allowed to shave himself and he absolutely

_Hates_

Having the orderlies anywhere near his face.

So having someone with scissors come at him wouldn’t end well. For anyone. And he wants to avoid that, since he’s actually _trying_ to get out of here the _‘right’_ way like he’d promised Boo.

Once Michael has pulled his hair back he has to force himself not to flinch or twitch; he doesn’t like leaving his face uncovered, hates it almost as much as having someone with a disposable razor in his space. It leaves him feeling too vulnerable, too exposed.

Too ugly.

_(“You’re not ugly, sweetheart. I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”)_

“Jesus Christ, he doesn’t even _blink,”_ the guard mutters, and visibly flinches back when Michael looks at him.

“Look, if you’re gonna act like this, I can get someone else who knows how to be professional,” Ismael says, clearly getting fed up. The guard scowls, but keeps quiet. “That’s what I thought.”

And then Michael gets into a van that has _Smith’s Grove Sanitarium_ emblazoned on the side; he has to hunch over uncomfortably just to fit in the cramped middle seat.

The phone Boo gave him rests heavily in his pocket and his face feels too bare.

-*-

“You must be Michael. I’m Olivia Hansen,” his new boss greets him as Michael and an orderly (Marcus? He thinks?) cross the threshold into the lobby of Haddonfield’s Respite. “If you’ll both follow me, I’ll give you the run-down of Michael’s duties and responsibilities as night shift security.”

Michael keeps one ear on the conversation, but most of his attention is on what’s going on around them; there are a few people – other staff by the looks of it – rushing from one place to another.

There’s a flash of something dark moving past them and Michael just

Stops

And stares, transfixed on it.

On the man.

Which is of course when Ismael’s hair-tie – old and worn down from repeated use – decides to snap and it spurs him into moving.

Into following after.

Maybe-Marcus says something, but it’s just white-noise to him.

(Olivia doesn’t sound worried.)

The dark haired man stops at a file cabinet in a room behind the front desk and Michael stops a few steps behind him.

And watches.

(Maybe-Marcus hasn’t stopped talking, apologizing profusely to Olivia.)

And then the man turns, walking right into Michael, and bouncing back. Michael’s hair falls forward in a curtain as the man looks up at his face.

“Michael!” Maybe-Marcus splutters as he and Olivia come into the room behind Michael. “We’ve talked about this, you can’t just run off! And what happened to your hair-tie? Ms. Hansen, I’m so sorry–”

“It’s alright,” Olivia chuckles. “Michael, this is JJ; he’s also on the night shift.”

The man – JJ – hasn’t said anything; he just stares back at Michael.

But he doesn’t flinch back, he just… looks vaguely surprised.

And then JJ pulls something off of his wrist – another hair-tie – and holds it out to Michael.

“I normally keep this around for Tanis, but you can use it if you want.”

And Michael takes it.


	3. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti* Here's chapter 3, done a lot sooner than I was expecting.

All you heard was _‘hair-tie’_ and then you were handing over a spare that you kept for when Tanis inevitably complained about her hair getting in the way.

You didn’t even really think about it, just slipping it over your wrist and holding it out for the man towering over you to either use or ignore.

(To be fair, you’re more than a little distracted by the dark blue watching your every move; if you hadn’t, you probably would have tried awkwardly moving around him by now.)

And then he takes the hair-tie from you, his movements slow and deliberate as he pulls his hair back and you finally get a good look at his face, his gaze never wavering from yours. You can faintly hear the Smith’s Grove employee speaking with Olivia, but you just let the words wash over you, too focused on this sudden staring contest with Michael.

But then you register the tone of voice Olivia is using – her _‘I’m being patient, but I’m beginning to think you’re an idiot’_ – the one she usually only ever uses on certain obnoxious guests.

“I think he’ll do just fine,” Olivia says firmly. “It might take him a few days to get used to this, but I highly doubt it’s Michael’s fault that he hasn’t had much of a chance to adjust to being outside of Smith’s Grove before tonight.”

When you glance at Olivia and the orderly behind Michael, you’re not surprised to see the cowed expression on the orderly’s face and the Polite Smile on Olivia’s.

Clearing your throat, now feeling a bit awkward now that the… whatever that was, with the whole staring contest thing, being broken, you sidestep around Michael.

“I, uh… I should get back to helping Tanis,” you say, stumbling over your words.

Olivia waves you off with a genuine smile before turning her attention back to the orderly and her smile turns icy and _so-polite-it’s-insulting_ in a way that you know from experience is a very specific Midwestern thing.

You feel eyes watching you the whole way out.

-*-

“Did you see the new guy yet?” Tanis asks as she hands you a plate to dry off. “The long hair kinda reminds me of my brother when he went through his heavy metal phase.”

“I saw him,” Harvey pipes up while you’re still trying to figure out what to say. “Dude looks like a human punch. So, like, good choice for security.”

You see Tanis’ arm move in a certain way, which makes you step back reflexively as she flicks water at Harvey, who squawks indignantly. “Either help out or get out, slacker.”

“Hard pass,” Harvey says with a roll of his eyes and leaves the kitchen door swinging.

“Now that Mr. Loudmouth is gone, what’s your opinion?” Tanis asks with a grin.

Shrugging, you set the plate on top of the stack and take the next dish Tanis hands you. You’ve only just _met_ the guy, technically, so there’s not really a lot for you to form an opinion just yet.

Tanis lets out a huff of fond amusement and goes back to the task at hand, until her hair starts to fall in her face. She tries to push it out of the way with the back of her hand, but it doesn’t do much.

“Ugh, you got a hair-tie?”

You nod reflexively, muscle memory making you go for your wrist only to find it bare and remembering you already gave it to Michael.

Tanis looks down at the wrist you usually keep spare hair-ties on, and a slow grin grows on her face, her expression looking very much like _‘the cat who caught the canary,’_ but she doesn’t say anything. She just looks oddly smug, but then again, Tanis is just like that sometimes.

You think nothing of it.

-*-

The night, so far, has been uneventful.

You sit at the front desk while Michael sits in the back room watching the security cameras. And it’s… silent. It almost always is during the night shift, but it’s different this time, because it’s not just you here.

Right about now you’d be playing some music, but you don’t know if that’d just annoy your new co-worker, or even what kind of music he likes, or—

You kinda wish Mel hadn’t retired to Florida. At least Mel was pretty easy to figure out; old guy who liked doing all the sudokus in the newspaper and was practically deaf, so he never cared about what music you played.

With Michael, you have no clue, and it’s kind of driving your anxiety through the roof.

 _It’ll be fine, there’s no point in stressing out over nothing,_ you tell yourself. _Just give it time and you won’t be so self-conscious around the guy._

Your nerves say otherwise, making your knee bounce.

With a near silent huff, you push away from the front desk and head to the back room; if you’re going to be jittery all night you might as well blame at least some of it on coffee. As soon as you step into the back room to get to the employee coffee machine, you feel eyes on you.

 _Hypervigilance?_ you wonder as you start scooping out some grounds.

Looking over your shoulder toward where Michael sits, your eyes catch on Michael’s, which are looking right at you.

“You want coffee?”

There’s some hesitation before he finally nods, still not saying a word to you (but that’s alright, you don’t always talk either), and you nod back before returning your attention to the machine.

Sighing through your nose, you watch as the pot slowly fills up; a part of you half-heartedly wishes that the hotel was less empty, mostly just so that you’d have something to do, even though the busy seasons usually tend to leave you feeling a bit dead inside. And when you really think about it, mouth twisting a bit sourly, the busy season will be here soon enough now that it’s November, what with Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Chanukah right around the corner.

When the coffee machine beeps you grab two mugs from cupboard.

You don’t really have any plans for those holidays; Tanis and Gigi will probably invite you over, but it all depends on how sociable you’re feeling when the time comes.

You pick up both filled mugs and nearly run right into Michael for the second time tonight. He really shouldn’t move so silently for a guy his size; you hadn’t even heard him get up, and you know for fact that that’s the same chair Mel used to use, and it _always_ creaks when it moves even the slightest bit.

Michael tilts his head and you remember what you’re holding.

You offer him one of the mugs, maintaining eye contact as he cautiously takes it from you. It makes you idly wonder, as you take a sip and he does the same with his own drink, if all your interactions will be like this. 

Just silently staring at each other.

But then Michael’s face scrunches up in disgust and it makes you stop short, all thoughts gone from your mind; in the few hours you’ve known him, his expression has never changed, always blank.

Until now.

And then it clicks; it’s the coffee.

“Not a fan of the taste, huh?”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t hand the mug back. With a smile trying to twist its way onto your lips, you set your mug down and head back to the front desk, and open the drawer you keep your stash of leftover Halloween candy. It doesn’t take you long to find a roll of Smarties and you start crushing it up on your way back in.

“Here, can I see that?” you ask, gesturing to the mug of coffee he’s still holding, which he hands over without a word.

You can feel him watching as you stir in the crushed up candy, and it sort of feels like… curiosity?

“A trick I learned,” you tell him, handing it back. “Try it now.”

The disgust melts from his face and back into that always blank expression of his, but there’s a faint crinkle around his eyes that you _know_ you would’ve missed if you weren’t looking right at him.

 _So he likes sweet stuff,_ you think to yourself, taking another sip of your own coffee, strong and bitter the way you prefer it. _They probably don’t allow a lot of sugary things in their meal plans at Smith’s Grove._

You can feel your brow furrowing at the thought of Smith’s Grove, so you push it away into a corner of your mind; you’re no longer alone on the night shift, so now probably isn’t the best time to get pissed off.

But it just makes you wonder what else Smith’s Grove doesn’t allow their patients, what with how Michael practically downs his coffee now that it doesn’t taste completely bitter.

“Hey, you don’t mind if I play music, right?” you find yourself asking him; he doesn’t nod or shake his head, so you figure it’s a _‘maybe.’_ “Got any requests?”

It’s only fair, when you think about it. This is his first night on the job, and it might give you a better idea of who Michael is.

And then you remember Michael hasn’t spoken at all, and a thought strikes you.

Raising your hands, you carefully sign, _‘It didn’t occur to me until just now, but I do know ASL if that’s what you prefer.’_

He stares at you for so long that you wonder if you’ve misread the situation, and then when he turns away from you, you’re absolutely certain that you’ve offended him, which makes your gut twist in knots, and—

You watch as Michael picks up a notepad that you hadn’t noticed before, and you watch as he writes, and you wait.

When he finishes, he turns it around for you to read.
    
    
    Every rose has its thorn

It baffles you for a moment, until a somewhat familiar guitar riff pops into your head, and you realize he’s talking about a song.

Huh.

“Okay, cool. If there’s anything else you wanna listen to, just let me know.”

The muted glee that flashes through his eyes as he nods at you nearly knocks you on your ass, just because of how surprising it is to see there.

_Huh._

Michael is a lot more expressive than you first thought. It just seems to all mostly happen in his eyes.

-*-

Michael sits in front of the monitors again, another cup of Smarties sweetened coffee in hand as he listens to Bret Michaels sing through the speakers.

He remembers the last time he’d heard this song; it had been a few days before that Halloween night that landed him in Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, his mom singing along to the radio as she cooked breakfast while he tried teaching Boo how to talk.

It had been one of the few times their mom had looked genuinely happy since their dad had passed away.

Michael doesn’t remember much about their dad, just that he had the same brown hair as Judith and that he didn’t make their mom miserable on purpose like Ronnie did.

He remembers hearing about Ronnie’s death from Loomis, a few years after his mom died. Like Loomis somehow thought that Michael had done it, as if Michael could have escaped from the sanitarium and then _willingly_ gone back after committing a murder.

All he can think is that everyone is better off without Ronnie running around. Not like anyone misses the bastard. 

Michael sure doesn’t.

Settling back in his chair, Michael’s eyes flick over the monitors; the place is empty except for him and JJ. He can’t quite figure out why, but every few minutes he’ll look over at the other man through the open doorway. It’s not like JJ is even doing anything, he’s just sitting there, reading.

But Michael looks at him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen... Michael Myers loves candy, you can't convince me otherwise. If he could, he'd probably try to live off of Halloween candy alone. And his music taste is basically just Golden Oldies and Metal.


	4. The Beginning 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the chapter title.

Instead of waiting for your next day off to get a spare key made, you decide to go get it done as soon as your shift is over, after you say goodbye to Michael before he gets into the Smith’s Grove van that’s waiting for him.

The night hadn’t been as bad as you had been dreading, and surprisingly, you find yourself looking forward to the next night shift.

You feel giddy, of all things, but you chalk it up to the caffeine and the fact that your new co-worker doesn’t seem to hate you. Sure, he stares at you a lot, but that’s not the weirdest thing to have ever happened to you while working here.

Oh the stories you could tell…

Anyway, spare key.

You make a left at 4th instead of a right, heading toward the only hardware store on Main Street. A shiver runs up your spine as a cold wind blows past, making you pull your jacket tighter around you; you can already tell it’s going to be a miserable, bitter winter since it’s feeling more like late December instead of early November.

There isn’t a lot of foot traffic as you walk down the streets of Haddonfield, but then again, the town always seems pretty empty this time of year anyway. At least until the college kids come home for Thanksgiving and winter break.

But it’s also pretty early in the morning; early enough that there’s small patches of ice that dot the sidewalk and you nearly eat shit at least once during your trek to Haddonfield Hardware, somehow still in business in spite of the Ace Hardware that recently opened in the next town over.

Something, something, small town charm? You remember Olivia talking about a guy by the name of _(Mason? Morgan?)_ Strode trying to really push for keeping as many corporations as possible out of Haddonfield, but suffice it to say, the real estate market had never really been an interest of yours.

All thoughts of the pros and cons of corporations in small towns are pushed aside when you finally reach the hardware store, a bell jingling when you open the door and step inside to the comfortable warmth.

“Hi there,” the woman behind the counter – Janice, according to her nametag – greets you with a smile that reminds you a little too much of Harvey; far too awake and chipper for six in the morning. “What can I do for you today?”

Reaching into the deep pockets of your jacket, you pull out your apartment key which is starting to look a little worse for wear, like it’s ready to snap in the lock the next time you use it. 

“I need a copy made,” you say, barely remembering to pull your scarf away from your face so you’re not mumbling.

“Sure thing!” Janice chirps, taking the key and gesturing to the machine behind her. “Should only take me a few minutes. Would you like to have two made? We have a two-for-one deal.”

You look at the handmade sign by the register that tells you the same thing, and yeah, that sounds like a good idea. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“That’ll be three dollars.”

You pay her and turn away from the counter to wander the store while you wait. For a hardware store, they sure have an eclectic stock; air filters, paint, scented candles, weird little knick-knacks that remind you of those ugly troll dolls that scared you as a kid and still kind of freak you out, and—

Big bags filled with rolls upon rolls of Smarties.

You stop, blinking blearily at them. Halloween’s been over for at least a week, so big bags of candy like this should’ve been snatched up on discount, yet here they are.

There’s a flash of memory, of blue eyes that crinkled ever so slightly in delight, and without even thinking twice, you grab a bag of Smarties and take it up to the register.

-*-

The process of checking back into Smith’s Grove is short, but feels like it drags on for far too long.

Undo nametag, hand it over with his ID, _‘Did you take anything you weren’t supposed to?’,_ endure a quick and awkward pat down from one of the guards – looks like it’s the same one from yesterday who threatened to cut his hair – and then Michael is finally allowed to go to his room.

The guard – Greg, Michael learns once he actually looks at name embroidered on the man’s shirt – eyeballs him as he goes; he clearly dislikes Michael, seems to even be unnerved by him, but that’s nothing new. 

Not really anyway.

Either Greg will get over it or he’ll be gone within a couple of weeks; after what happened last year, Smith’s Grove has been more on the ball about hiring competent staff, but that’s more to avoid negative attention than out of the goodness of their hearts. 

His stomach growls when he’s halfway back to his room, and Michael stops in his tracks.

The cafeteria should be open by now, but there’s a low hum in the back of his skull that reminds him that he’s mask-less.

On one hand, food, even if it is the same bland, soupy oatmeal they’ve been serving for the past 15 years.

On the other, _mask._

So he stands there, in the middle of the empty hallway, torn by indecision.

Until the decision is made for him, his stomach winning over the need to hide his face.

Pivoting on his heel, Michael heads back the way he came, through the winding halls of off-white and pale gray. Somewhere along the way, Karen (the patient from a year ago when Michael had beaten two guards) joins him. They’re not friends, but Michael doesn’t mind her presence; she’s not loud like some of the other patients are and she never tries to get into his space.

He glances at her, one brow slightly raised in silent question, to which she responds with a shake of her head; it’s not unusual for her to find him, but sometimes it’s because someone – often times some new addition to the staff – is making her nervous.

And that’s something else that Michael hadn’t really noticed until Ismael had pointed it out to him; the other patients tend to flock to him when there’s a _‘bad apple’_ in the batch.

It makes some sense, he guesses. Michael knows he’s intimidating and that he’s stronger than what is probably average. He’s in a better position to fight back than the others are, with the advantage of his height and strength.

Not that’s he had to. Ismael’s been pretty good at weeding out the bad from the decent ever since he got promoted to head of security.

But the damage has been done, can’t ever be undone. Managed, maybe. But Karen still has screaming nightmares about last year.

Once in cafeteria, he grabs a bowl of the tasteless oatmeal and sits in the back by the windows, and Karen goes to sit with a couple of other patients.

The food here is just as bad as it’s always been, and Michael finds himself wanting another cup of coffee with Smarties in it as he goes through the motions of breakfast. But his brain feels like it’s trying to vibrate out of his skull with _mask, mask, mask_ playing on repeat. His hand lifts up, fingers hesitating over the hair-tie that holds his hair back, and removes it carefully, so it doesn’t snap.

Michael leaves it wrapped around his wrist, a surprisingly comfortable pressure.

-*-

Out of morbid curiosity, you take a look at a copy of Loomis’ book when you stop by the library before work.

 _‘The Devil’s Eyes’_ in bold red letters above a close up of a child’s face in greyscale. 

Jesus. Fucking. _Christ._

You feel nauseous just holding it, this book that has had nothing but people condemning it and its author; a tell-all, airing out somebody else’s business who had never agreed to it.

Taking a deep breath, you open it to a random page.

_These eyes will deceive you. They will destroy you. They will take from you your innocence, your pride, and eventually your soul. These eyes do not see what you and I see. Behind these eyes one finds only blackness, the absence of light. These are the eyes of a psychopath. Mi—_

You snap the book shut.

Hands shaking with disgust and anger, you shove the book back into its space on the shelf.

 _What kind of medical professional talks about their patient like that?_ you wonder, but then you remember that article you had looked up two nights ago, that interview where he had actually called this patient of his _‘evil.’_

You step away fuming and head for the horror section; you’ve been meaning to get around to the genre for a while now.

-*-

 **Boo:** how was ur first day at work??

 **Mikey:** Alright

 **Boo:** are u kiddin me rn? “alright”??

 **Boo:** I thought for sure you’d bueller it up or something

 **Boo:** im a lil disappointed □

 **Mikey:** I don’t know what you were expecting it’s literally just sitting and watching nothing happen

 **Mikey:** Why did you send a blank box what is that

 **Boo:** oh right u can’t see emojis on ur phone my bad

 **Boo:** and idk maybe make friends w/ your coworkers or something

 **Mikey:** I’ll think about it

 **Boo:** !!!

 **Mikey:** What

 **Boo:** ive literally never heard you answer with a “maybe” to friends before holy shit who is it who’s ur new bff

 **Mikey:** You haven’t heard me say anything since you were two

 **Boo:** WOW

 **Boo:** is that some sass? Are u bringing the sass

 **Boo:** someone call the sass police, we’ve got Sass Master Mikey on the loose

 **Mikey:** Brat

 **Boo:** okay but seriously who is it are they nice

 **Mikey:** You’re not going to let this go are you

 **Boo:** nope!

 **Mikey:** I have to get ready for work

 **Boo:** lmao fine have fun tell me all about ur new bff when your shift is over!!!

-*-

You manage to sneak the bag of Smarties past Harvey, though that’s pretty easy to do when he’s stuck having to deal with a guest passionately complaining about something.

Safely in the back room from Harvey and his unstoppable sweet tooth, you remove the Smarties bag from your pack back and open the bottom right drawer of the security desk and stop.

Your brain is trying to make you second guess yourself – _why would you buy a bag of Smarties for a guy you’ve only known a handful of hours, what makes you think he even likes them enough to be okay with suddenly having an entire bag of them_ – but you force yourself to quiet those thoughts and put the candy in the drawer.

Although… there is at least a good point in there; he might get pretty tired of Smarties.

Grabbing the notepad that Michael left on top of the desk, you write down a quick note and close the drawer.

If he gets sick of them, or doesn’t like them, or whatever, well… no one can say you didn’t at least try to be on good terms with him.

-*-

Michael steps into the lobby alone this time, no orderly trying to herd him from place to place.

There’s no sign of JJ this time, so Michael heads straight for the backroom. 

And he stops at his desk when he sees the notepad he’d been using is flipped to a new page with unfamiliar handwriting.
    
    
    Bottom right drawer. Let me know if there are any others you like. —JJ

Curious, Michael pulls the bottom right drawer open and… there’s a pile of Smarties.

It… honestly surprises Michael.

(It baffles him because the only person he’s known to be this thoughtful is Boo; he hadn’t really expected this from JJ, no matter how much he fascinates Michael.)

But he can smell the strong, bitter coffee and he’s already grabbing a couple rolls, trying to remember which candies he’d liked when Halloween came around, before he’d been sent to Smith’s Grove. His family hadn’t been well-off, so Halloween had been his favorite holiday (it still is), mostly because of the free candy.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he hides it by taking a drink from his cup of candy sweetened coffee.


	5. Maybe You Should've Checked Out A Different Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this chapter! There was a lot I had to rewrite because a few parts felt a little too clunky or stilted, and it was just fighting me in general tbh. So if anything reads kind of weird or looks a little out of place that's why (I think I missed a couple sentences where I had to rewrite, but I'll fix it eventually).

It’s barely even an hour into your shift and you feel restless.

This doesn’t happen too often, but it’s annoying when it does. There’s not a lot you need to do tonight; there’s only two guests who’ve been in their rooms since you got here, and the lobby is in good enough shape that there’s nothing for you to clean, and you don’t need to set things up for the kitchen staff until the end of your shift.

Simply put, you’re bored and there’s not a lot you can do to fix it.

Leaning back in your chair, you let your mind wander; there’s the book you picked up from the library that you could get started on, but… well, you decided to get The Shining, and now you’re kind of regretting it. Why in the world did you pick the one Stephen King book that takes place in a hotel?

You glance at the open door to the back room. Maybe…

Maybe Michael won’t mind if you read in there?

It’s worth a shot at least. You doubt that the two whole guests the hotel has tonight will call down to the desk, and if they do you’ll still be able to hear the phone ring from the back room.

Getting up, you grab the book from your bag and step into the back room, where Michael looks at you as soon as you cross the threshold, like some sort of sixth sense.

“Hope you don’t mind if I hang out back here, it’s pretty quiet tonight,” you say, surprisingly steadier than you’re feeling with a bit of anxiety curling up in your chest like it always does whenever you talk to someone you’re still getting to know.

Michael doesn’t nod or shake his head, but he does push out the other chair by his desk with his foot. You decide to take it as an invitation and take the offered seat with a half-smile.

The silence is comfortable enough that you immediately fall into reading; every now and then you can feel Michael looking at you, but when you glance at him his attention is on the monitors.

Until you glance at him to find him trying to reading over your shoulder, his chin resting in his hand.

His eyes meet yours when you don’t turn the page after a while, but then he fishes a flip phone out of his pocket and looks away from you long enough to type something.
    
    
    What are you reading

“The Shining.” 

And then you move the book so that you both can read it.

But after a few minutes, it becomes pretty clear that Michael reads a lot quicker than you do, and you only realize this because you can see out of the corner of your eye that he looks back to the monitors when he’s finished and only goes back to reading when he can hear you turning the page.

You know that it’s very unlikely that anything will happen that requires his attention, but this is still his job and you feel a little guilty that you’re distracting him from it.

Clearing your throat makes his gaze snap back to you.

“I could read aloud, so you don’t have to keep looking back and forth,” you offer. “If you want.”

The seconds tick by, and your eyes study his face, watching the way his brow twitches ever so slightly and seeing something flashing in Michael’s eye so quickly you can’t tell what it is, and Michael nods.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you turn back to the first page.

“Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick,” you begin.

The restlessness that had been gnawing at you eases and fades away.

-*-

JJ’s voice is steady and clear as he reads aloud and Michael finds himself more and more interested in the story the more JJ reads.

Given the chance, this book probably wouldn’t have been Michael’s first choice, but he’s warming up to it.

He’s still sneaking looks at JJ every now and then, the relaxed slope of his shoulders and the faint upturn of his mouth refusing to let go of Michael’s attention just as much as the story.

-*-

After a while, your throat is starting to run dry and becoming a little sore; you haven’t spoken this much in a long time, if ever.  
But you keep going until the clock reads nearly midnight and you reach a good enough stopping point. Stretching as you roll to your feet, you try to remember if you remembered to bring food or if you forgot again. And then you feel the weight of Michael’s gaze on you again, a questioning twitch in between his brows.

“Meal break,” you say, wincing when your voice comes out a little hoarse. Yeah, definitely too much talking. Maybe some tea is in order; as much as you like coffee, you don’t think it’ll be a good idea right now.

Movement breaks you out of your thoughts, but it’s just Michael getting up and leaving the room, heading off to the bathroom by the looks of it. Not surprising, since he’s had at least three cups of coffee since you started reading about an hour and a half ago.

You stop by the front desk, checking to see if you remembered to bring anything, and yeah, you forgot again.

With a quiet sigh, you write _‘went to the kitchen’_ and leave it taped to the door; Olivia’s made it clear that’s it not a big deal if you use the kitchen so long as you clean up after yourself, but you try not to make it habit of using it.

Hell, even Tanis has told you it’s fine, but you don’t—you don’t like intruding, being burdensome, even if people assure you that you’re not. It’s a worry you’ve always had, and probably always _will_ have.

An old habit of yours that you’ve had since your childhood; being shunted from one guardian to another so you tried to make yourself as quiet and unobtrusive as possible in hopes of finally being able to stay put somewhere. 

(In the process, somewhere along the way, you’d unintentionally numbed yourself to make the inevitable shame and anger hurt less.)

Haddonfield had been the last place you were moved to and you just… kinda stayed. 

Where else would you have gone?

_(Nowhere, that’s where; you never got attached to anywhere, learned to not have a preference because it’s so much easier to just go with the ebb and flow of things when there’s nothing and no one who will—)_

Dragging your mind away from spiraling thoughts, you push open the kitchen door with shaky hands and have to just

Stop.

Just for a moment. 

Just long enough to take a deep, steadying breath.

_(There’s no need to get yourself worked up over things that have been done and over with for a long time and had been out of your control anyway.)_

Dwelling too long on your past is never a good idea; not that you ignore it or pretend like it never happened, just… there aren’t a lot of good memories.

Besides, the past is the past, and you do have people who care about you, despite how much your mind tries to convince you otherwise. Like Harvey, despite how he can get on your nerves sometimes, and Gigi, who is always happy to see you, and Tanis, who has apparently left a couple of containers of food for you – along with a note – in the fridge at the far end of the kitchen that’s mainly reserved for employee use.
    
    
    Hey, noticed you seemed to be in one of your downswings, so I made something that’s really easy to reheat. And there’s enough to share w/ the new guy, so share! —Tanis

The corners of your mouth hitch upwards briefly as you fold the note up and pocket it before grabbing the containers while looking around for the kettle. Tanis is a good friend; she’s upfront about most things and she doesn’t hover with worry when you do have one of your downswings. This isn’t one of them, but you have forgotten to eat much of anything for the past couple of days, and you were pretty much non-verbal all of last week, so it’s not surprising that she’d think you were having one.

As you wait for the kettle to boil, you find yourself wondering about Michael; wondering why he speaks through writing even though he at least understands some ASL, and how he got so good at moving silently that you pretty much never hear him.

(You actually hear him coming this time, the swinging kitchen door creaking on its hinges.)

Your mouth hitches up into a half smile as Michael tugs at his hair-tie in annoyance, a barely there scowl that’s mostly just narrowed eyes, and brows pinching together.

“Hey.”

-*-

Michael’s still thinking about what Dr. Crane had said earlier, before he had to leave for his shift.

_(“Normally I wouldn’t throw my patients into the deep end like this, but you seem to be taking it in stride.”)_
    
    
    (It’s better than staring at the walls and I’m not treated like an idiot or a freak)

There’s a note left on the door when he gets back, but it’s still their break, so Michael pivots on his heel and heads toward the kitchen area.

 _(“How are you getting along with your co-workers?”_ Dr. Crane asked after setting aside her notes.)

(Michael sat there, and he thought about it; Dr. Crane is more likeable and _far_ more trustworthy than Loomis had ever been – although that’s not entirely accurate. Loomis had been both of those things when Michael was first placed under his care, but as the years wore on those qualities dimmed further and further until they simply weren’t there anymore – but Michael is still wary about what should be shared.)
    
    
    (I haven’t really talked with anyone from the day shift, but I get along alright with JJ. He let me choose the music yesterday)

(He kept the parts about the coffee and the hair-tie to himself.)

(Dr. Crane smiled. _“That’s good to hear. Building positive relationships outside of your family is important.”)_

But that’s not what really bothered him about their session.

Pushing open the creaking kitchen door, Michael can feel his face pull into as much of a scowl as he’s capable of.

No, it had been the end of the session that was bothering him.

 _(“I know this might seem a little too soon, but I’d like you to start thinking about which masks to keep and which ones to let go of,”_ Dr. Crane had said. Michael felt completely blindsided, and she must’ve noticed because she had continued with. _“They won’t be thrown out or destroyed, just put away in a storage container. I just wanted to give you plenty of time to think about it and to get used to the idea.”)_

(He felt sick and angry; he didn’t _want_ to box up any of his masks – they’re _his,_ a part of _himself_ – but this was going to happen, whether or not he likes it, if he wants to ever get out of Smith’s Grove.)

He tugs at his hair-tie; Michael still doesn’t like the idea.

It still makes him feel angry, although the bag of Smarties had helped. And JJ’s reading had helped calm the sick, panicky feeling in his chest.

“Hey,” JJ says and Michael’s eyes flick up to his face, seeing the faint smile there, and the sick feeling that had been building back up behind his ribs without him noticing fades away again. “Tanis left us dinner. Hope you don’t mind stew.”

Michael fishes his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick response.
    
    
    As long as it isn’t hospital food I already like it

“That’s a low bar.”
    
    
    Low enough you could trip over it

It’s not one of his best in Michael’s opinion, but it gets a laugh out of JJ.

(It’s a really nice sound.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got mixed feelings about this chapter, but I think that's mostly because I've been working on it too long and don't wanna look at it anymore.


	6. Small Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the wait on this chapter, but this winter has been so cold that it's been agitating some old injuries which has made it hard to focus on writing. Hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter done sooner.
    
    
    So why did you choose a horror story if they scare you so much

“Hocus Pocus terrified me as a kid and I’ve been trying to top it ever since,” you say as seriously as you can. 

It’s difficult to not laugh at the way Michael’s hand shoots up to cover up what looks like a grin.

You definitely laugh when he glares at you and the glare isn’t much of a glare at all.

“Okay, serious answer,” you concede when your laughter dies down. “Without getting into too much detail, I got moved around a lot as a kid, and often. I always liked going to the library, but because of the getting moved around thing, I could never get very far in the books I’d borrow.”

Your eyes go distant for a moment, thinking about all the different towns you’ve lived in, never really forming any ties to anyone or anything, except for the libraries; libraries could never disappoint you, or make you feel worthless. As sad as it is to admit it, but for the longest time libraries were the only stable thing in your life, and you had latched onto them. You don’t rely on them for stability anymore, but it’s still a habit of yours that you’ve kept – one that you don’t mind keeping.

There’s something nudging against your foot, drawing you out of your thoughts to see Michael looking at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Basically I made it my goal to get through an entire library’s books; every genre, every author.” You pause at that, and remember Loomis’ book. Sure, the library only had the one copy, but when you had asked it hadn’t ever been checked out; apparently no one in Haddonfield wanted anything to do with Loomis’ greed fueled book. “Although I don’t think I’ll actually be able to finish my goal anymore. What about you?”

Michael shrugs and types out his response on his phone.
    
    
    I don’t read a lot

Oh… you feel strangely disappointed.
    
    
    Smith’s grove doesn’t have much to choose from. But I like the book you picked

“Yeah?”
    
    
    It’s weird but interesting

A warm flare of _something_ sparks behind your ribs.

But there’s not really much of a chance to dwell on it, because you glance at the clock.

“Break’s almost over. We should clean up,” you say as you get up, more than a little reluctant; talking with Michael has been really nice.

Michael nods, following your lead and grabbing the dishes. The silence is comfortable – you wash, he dries – and you’re running through the tasks you’ll have to get to in a few hours when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. Michael holds up his phone for you to read.
    
    
    Do you want to read some more? Or we could just listen to music

A small smile worms its way onto your face. 

“Sure.”

His eyes soften in what you’ve come to realize is how he usually smiles.

(It’s a really nice look on him.)

-*-

The sky outside has turned a pale gray as day shift starts to arrive.

So far only a couple people from housekeeping have showed up, and normally you’d wait until Tanis got here, but today’s her day off.

You send off a quick _‘thank you for the food’_ text to her when you go to get the library book from the back room and accidentally bump into Michael, who looks like he was just on his way out.

“Sorry, I was just looking for—” you start, but then Michael holds out The Shining to you. “Thanks.”

His eyes flick down to your phone, which you’re still holding, and then back to your face, his head slightly tilted in an unvoiced question.

And then an idea hits you.

“Hey, can I see your phone real quick?” you find yourself asking before you let your nerves get the better of you.

Michael hesitates for a moment, but pulls his phone out and hands it over. You shoot him a small smile before you open it; man, it’s been a while since you’ve used a flip phone, but you manage to save your number in his contacts. You keep it flipped open when you hand it back.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you say, but his eyes are wide and it makes you think that maybe you crossed a line or something. “I just thought, if there was something you wanted to read, you could text me and I could get it from the library—it doesn’t have to be specifically that, but… You can just delete it.”

But then Michael’s shaking his head, his expression as serious as he can make it, and he types something into his phone.
    
    
    I’m not deleting it

The knot in your chest relaxes, and you hadn’t even noticed it had been forming there.

-*-

 **Boo:** ugh

 **Boo:** uggggggggghh

 **Mikey:** Uggggggggggggggggggggh

 **Boo:** how dare u out ugh me

 **Mikey:** It’s the easiest way to get you to stop and say what’s bothering you

 **Boo:** its nothing

 **Boo:** just Judith Being Judith

 **Boo:** and not answering my texts or calls

 **Boo:** which just means she’ll get pissy at me when she finds out about the work release program

 **Mikey:** Well it’s her own fault then

 **Mikey:** She literally can’t say you didn’t tell her

 **Boo:** yea but u know Judith

 **Boo:** nothing ever is her own fault she can do no wrong how dare i antagonize her with the possibility of maybe owning up to her own past shitty behavior

 **Boo:** like, not to downplay what happened to her/what you did, but her being a little shit didn’t help the situation at all

 **Mikey:** She was grieving

 **Boo:** u and mom were grieving too in ur own ways that didn’t involve bullying

 **Boo:** ugh i don’t wanna talk about the Judith Situation anymore

 **Boo:** tell me about work did u get to hang out w/ ur bff

 **Mikey:** Yes but I think “BFF’s” might be laying it on a little strong

 **Boo:** !!!!!

 **Boo:** well??

 **Mikey:** Well what

 **Boo:** tell me about them doofus!!

 **Mikey:** What do you want to know

 **Boo:** uh anything? everything??

 **Boo:** im honestly really curious now

 **Boo:** i mean i was before but now im super curious

 **Mikey:** His name is JJ

 **Boo:** go on

 **Mikey:** He likes reading. He’s trying to work his way through the horror genre even though it scares him

 **Mikey:** And he gave me a hair tie when mine broke

 **Mikey:** Oh and he gave me his number too

 **Boo:** AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

 **Mikey:** Stop

 **Boo:** oops srry I meant

 **Boo:** aaaaaaahhhhhhh

 **Boo:** have u texted him yet

 **Mikey:** Not yet

 **Boo:** □□□

 **Mikey:** Blank boxes

 **Boo:** damn it

 **Boo:** those were smiley faces

 **Boo:** man i can’t wait until we’re allowed to upgrade ur phone

-*-

Michael stands in his room, looking at the large collection of masks that he’s made over the years hanging on his walls. He knows he doesn’t have to start boxing them up yet, but Dr. Crane did say he _should_ start putting some thought into which ones to keep and which ones to put into storage.

It’s more difficult than he thought it would be and he’d already expected it to nearly impossible.

There’s too many to pick and choose, so many he hasn’t worn in years because he’d outgrown them, but…

But they’re still part of him, every single one, even if he hasn’t worn them in a long time.

They’re all his different emotions and phases and thoughts and reflections.

How could he ever choose?

And he can’t text Boo because she’s in class right now, and he could ask Ismael for his opinion – Michael is one of the few in this wing who’s allowed to keep his door open, a rare privilege that came along with the program – but the man is probably busy right now overseeing the newer security guards. 

Michael’s eyes slide over to his desk, where his phone rests next to a half finished mask.

Maybe…

Maybe JJ could offer some advice?

It’s worth a shot if nothing else.

-*-

“Shit,” you breathe out as the washing machine eats your quarters and refuses to start. You’re going to have to talk with the landlord about this _(again)_ and you’re not looking forward to it; the guy kind of creeps you out to be honest.

 _Maybe Tanis and Gigi will let me use their washing machine,_ you think as you start removing your laundry from the broken machine, only to be startled by your phone buzzing from on top of the dryer.

For a moment, you entertain the idea that Gigi suddenly developed mind reading powers, but then you read the texts.

 **Unknown:** Do you know a good way to choose what to keep and what to get rid of when it comes to something that’s really important to you

 **Unknown:** This is Michael by the way

A small, pleasantly surprised smile grows on your face; you know he said he wouldn’t delete your number, and you believed his sincerity, but you hadn’t expected him to make use of it. Especially this soon, if at all.

You save his number, send off a quick text to Gigi, and start typing out a reply to Michael.

(There’s a warm spark of fondness behind your ribs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really spoilers, but you guys have no idea how much I'm looking forward to getting to the part of the story where Michael gets moved to the halfway house.


	7. The Night Has a Thousand Eyes (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael "I don't have friends" Myers totally has two whole friends; Karen and JJ.
> 
> [Bolero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4wb11w0ZHQ) really is that bad. If you don't believe me try listening to it on repeat.
> 
> (Also, a little bit of a time skip. Not too much, but enough to keep things moving along; going day by day would get pretty boring really quick and take too long. Plus I don't really have the patience/attention span to go super slow.)

Michael sits, and Michael listens.

It’s all he can really do during the group therapy sessions – and honestly, it’s all he really wants to do. He’d rather not let people who are maybe acquaintances at best – years of living in the same institution doesn’t automatically make them all friends – know his thoughts or emotions. 

That’s what the masks are for anyway.

(Although Dr. Crane would disagree and encourage him to examine his emotions and reactions more closely.)

Apparently Michael isn’t doing such a great job of listening today, because the session is already over, most of the other patients dispersing.

Rising to his feet, Michael notices the guard by the door – Greg. His eyes narrow in reaction to Greg’s scowl. He doesn’t like Greg and Greg clearly doesn’t like him for whatever reason. Michael looks away when he feels someone standing off to his side.

Karen looks from him to Greg then back to him before holding up a comb.

He nods and follows her out, leaving Greg completely forgotten.

Karen’s kept her hair short – not quite buzz cut short, but close to it – since last year. Ever since the panic attack she had when another patient had pulled her hair by accident she had it chopped off and kept it that way. But it’s clear she misses it, so Michael lets her braid his hair or do whatever to it sometimes.

“My mom used to do this for me,” she had quietly admitted the first time. “It always calms me down. Let’s me think.”

Karen heads out into the courtyard and she sits on one of the picnic tables, legs folded beneath her, and Michael sits on the bench with his back to her as she starts to comb out the tangles that he hadn’t gotten to yet. This happens maybe once a month, or every other month; it’s one of the few times either of them allow anyone to get in their personal space.

Michael really likes his personal space, not really a big fan of people being too physically close to him.

Other than Boo, of course. Or his mom, before she died.

Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s let JJ into his personal space a lot and been fine with it. Hell, Michael practically invaded JJ’s personal space when they first met.

His phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans (they’ve been more lenient with what he can wear since he’s been doing well so far, even though it’s only been a couple of weeks) and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards when he reads the text.

 **JJ:** Judas Priest or Misfits?

 **Michael:** You can choose. I’m fine with either

 **JJ:** Dude no, I’m terrible at choosing :(

 **JJ:** Besides it’s your turn to choose anyway.

 **Michael:** I’m just happy to listen to anything that isn’t classical

 **JJ:** Not a fan I take it?

 **Michael:** Not when it’s all the staff will let us listen to

 **Michael:** I can’t hear bolero anymore without dying a little inside

 **Michael:** Imagine “it’s a small world” but slower and more repetitive

 **JJ:** They don’t let you choose what music to listen to?

 **Michael:** No. There’s a “reason” for it but I honestly can’t remember it

 **Michael:** It’s been replaced by bolero and there’s no escaping it

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” He looks up from his phone when Karen speaks, having finished braiding his hair and is starting to unbraid it. She looks pensive but she keeps glancing at the building. “But I think you should keep an eye on that new security guard.”

Michael tilts his head in question. _Has Greg done something?_ But Karen shakes her head at him.

“I’m more worried for you,” she whispers. Karen huffs at Michael’s disbelief. “He hasn’t exactly tried hiding his dislike of you. I don’t know what his deal is, but just be careful.”

He doesn’t know what Karen thinks Greg is capable of, and as far as he can tell, there’s no real reason to worry, but Michael nods anyway. They may not be close, but he does trust her judgement.

“Thanks for letting me play with your hair,” Karen says and then she’s sliding off the table onto her feet and heading back inside.

Michael sits there for a while longer, letting the November chill sink into his bones, thumb rubbing the hair-tie around his wrist. His fingers press against his mask briefly, and then he’s heading back inside too.

-*-

You’re halfway under your bed, digging through the boxes you keep stored there, when you finally find what you’re looking for.

“Finally!” you grin and then wince when you whack your head on the wood slats.

You wiggle back out, sliding the box along with you, almost deliriously giddy when you open it up and find your old iPod and charger still in it. You haven’t used it in forever, having made the switch over to mostly using your phone or the computer at work to play music, but you’re glad that you held onto it anyway. Plugging it in, you try to remember what your old login was for the music library; you’ve got plenty of music saved onto your laptop, but again, it’s been so long since you used this that you can’t recall if you can load music onto it without an Apple account.

Either way, you’re pretty confident it will work out. Now you just have to make sure you remember which songs Michael likes. You know from the past couple of weeks from working together that he tends to prefer metal and punk and, surprisingly, golden oldies. Like, Marvin Gaye, and The Ink Spots, and The Crystals kind of golden oldies.

So basically high energy and intense, but also relaxed and upbeat. Not the weirdest music preference combination you’ve ever heard, but also not quite what you expected from Michael.

Although, you’re not exactly sure _what_ you expected from him. The guy is full of surprises, honestly.

You’re in the middle of wondering if you should wait until Christmas to give Michael the iPod when you hear your phone going off in the other room. It’s just a couple of news feed alerts; one for the Leonids meteor shower – tonight is apparently its peak and you’re looking forward to it – and another for a couple of things happening up in Chicago, and the last one is about a book tour that is still on hold due to legal issues.

You’re already scrolling past the last one when you stop, a name catching your eye.

_Samuel Loomis._

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you close out of the app and focus on not getting pissed off. You probably should just ignore it, but there’s a nagging feeling that sits heavily in your stomach like a stone.

Compromise; you’ll read the article later. After work. No point in getting yourself worked up, not when there’s the Leonids tonight. You don’t want to sour the excitement with anger.

-*-

“Just the guy I was looking for!” Olivia says with a bright smile as soon as you step through the door into the Haddonfield’s Respite. “Are you going to Tanis and Gigi’s for Thanksgiving?”

 _Fuck,_ you think. You _knew_ you were forgetting something.

“I don’t mean to badger you about it, but I need to know soon. Michael has already agreed to working that day, but if you don’t want to I can cover that day for you,” Olivia explains.

Normally, you tend to work Thanksgiving anyway – at least when there are guests – but you aren’t really feeling up to dealing with the dense crowd that’s usually at Tanis and Gigi’s place this time of year.

(You do wonder why Michael decided to work Thanksgiving though. Maybe he doesn’t care for crowds either? Of course, that’s assuming how many families visit Smith’s Grove on the holidays.)

 _‘No, that’s okay. I’ll work that day,’_ you sign and Olivia nods.

“Alright! We’ve got eleven reservations for that day, and the forecast says there’ll be some heavy snowfall too, so make sure you wear plenty of layers,” Olivia says, and you already know this, but you let her ramble anyway; it’s just that time of year with so many holidays crammed into a span of a couple of months that tends to stress her out a bit. “And since you and Michael will be working that day I’ll order you guys some food, so just let me know what you both want.”

It’s actually kind of soothing, in a way, listening to her ramble as you set things up for the night or help clean.

Michael shows up about twenty minutes later, suddenly next to you, helping stack the chairs against the wall. There’s a flash of laughter in the way his eyes crinkle when you startle, but it gets you laughing too as you finger spell _‘jerk’_ at him.

You can’t help but think of the old iPod back in your apartment and you still haven’t decided when to give it to him.

Maybe sooner than Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda... want to make short playlist of songs that Michael would listen to the most, but idk.


	8. The Night Has a Thousand Eyes (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, not to be hella gay (which I am), but [Dance Macabre by Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttY0vfyd-dI) is giving me some ideas for Michael and JJ at a Halloween party. Just look at the [lyrics.](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ghostbc/dancemacabre.html) You can't tell me that it doesn't give y'all Michael & JJ vibes. It's a very _them_ song, honestly.
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this one. This technically should've been part of the last chapter (which is why this is pretty short), but depression hit me upside the head with a sack of potatoes and basically one hit KO'd me, so chapter 7 got split into two.

Other than the music playing from the computer’s speakers, tonight has been pretty quiet.

JJ is practically buzzing with excitement about something, but won’t explain what for.

 _‘Surprise later,’_ was all he signed to Michael when asked, so he leaves it be. And normally, Michael isn’t really a big fan of surprises, but the barely contained grin on JJ’s face and the infectious giddiness puts him at ease and reassures Michael that it isn’t something bad.

If anything, he’s genuinely curious.

(His eyes crinkle as a wave of fondness washes over him.)

-*-

When the antique grandfather clock in the lobby chimes at midnight, signaling their hour long break, JJ taps Michael’s shoulder twice before getting out of his chair.

Michael follows him out, surprised when JJ heads down a hallway instead of towards the kitchen. Brow furrowed slightly, he taps JJ’s shoulder twice and gestures at the hallway when he has his attention.

 _‘Going to the sun room,’_ JJ signs.

The halls are long and winding; Haddonfield’s Respite is larger than Michael would’ve thought, and it doesn’t really look like a hotel. If anything, it looks more like a mansion from one of those black and white movies Michael likes to have on in the background while he does other things.

He says as much when he types it out for JJ to read.
    
    
    So what’s the deal with this place? When they told me I’d be working at a hotel I kind of assumed it’d be a motel 8 or something

JJ’s head tilts in thought for a moment as they keep walking before he gestures to Michael’s phone, asking wordlessly if he can use it. Michael hands it over.

They make it all the way to a room where the ceiling and three of the walls are pretty much all glass – the sun room – before JJ hands the phone back to Michael.
    
    
    It used to be a mansion (built back in the 1880s and they just kept adding onto it I think?) before the owner apparently decided to turn it into a hotel. I’ve never met them, but according to Olivia, they decided to do so on a whim and also maybe because the only other hotel in town burned down at some point? I’m not too sure, honestly.

That… doesn’t really answer a lot. Michael shrugs anyway and sits down in one of the wicker chairs next to JJ – carefully, because he’s pretty sure that if he isn’t he’ll break it.
    
    
    So why are we here

There’s a small smile on JJ’s face that just makes Michael sure that if he could, JJ would make some kind of smartass joke about that, but instead, he points upwards to lights streaking across the dark night sky.

 _Shooting stars. A meteor shower,_ Michael’s mind produces, and he finds himself entranced by the sight.

He can’t remember the last time he saw something like this. Probably back when his mom was still alive, before he got locked up in Smith’s Grove – for years, the room curfew didn’t exactly allow for star gazing, and Michael hadn’t been allowed to leave his room without supervision and also being restrained in some way, so something like this…

It’s nice.

And it makes him realize just how much he’s missed while being kept in what is basically a concrete box.

Which also makes him painfully aware of how much he stands to lose if he fucks this up somehow; being able to talk to Boo and not just when she can visit him, wearing what he wants even if there isn’t a lot of variety to it at the moment, getting to listen what he likes and reading something that isn’t from Smith’s Grove’s ridiculously small library, having at least one meal that doesn’t resemble and taste like wallpaper paste.

Getting to spend time with JJ.

Swallowing thickly, Michael also realizes he doesn’t like the way his stomach clenches and swoops uncomfortably at the thought of losing all of that.

“Pretty isn’t it?” JJ asks, so quietly and suddenly that Michael almost jumps at the sound, and completely unaware of Michael’s internal crisis.

Michael studies the side of JJ’s face as the other man continues to watch the meteor shower, and Michael swears he can see a reflection of the meteor shower in JJ’s nearly black eyes, finds himself wanting to watch that instead of the actual thing.

 _Yes,_ Michael thinks.

-*-

The two of you sit in the sun room for a little while longer.

You could’ve sat there watching it until the sun came up, but you figure you and Michael should probably eat something before your break is over.

During the walk back to the lobby, Michael walks close enough to you that the backs of your hands brush every now and then, and it sends sparks of warmth up your arm every time it happens.

-*-

“Got anything planned for Thanksgiving?” The words are out of your mouth before you can even really think about it. For a nonverbal day, you’re being pretty chatty. After a beat you sign, _‘Other than working here.’_

You can see Michael turning the question over in his head while he watches the security cameras. Eventually, he shakes his head.

_‘No family?’_

Michael’s attention on the screens doesn’t waver. A few moments pass by and then he’s reaching into his shirt pocket; when he unfolds it and holds it out for you to take, you see that it’s a picture of a kid holding a toddler. You take it, and it’s odd seeing a young Michael smiling so openly.

He points to the toddler, then writes with his other hand on the pad of paper.
    
    
    I have Boo. My sister. But she’s going up to Chicago with her parents

_‘Her parents?’_ you sign, feeling a little confused.

Michael’s brow furrows and his jaw moves in a way that is obviously him chewing on the inside of his mouth, and you suddenly feel bad for asking, feeling like you’ve pushed for two much with very few words. But before you can tell him that he doesn’t have to explain, a look of determination settles in his eyes.
    
    
    After mom died Judith decided she didn’t want anything to do with either of us after everything that happened. So Boo was adopted. Which is good. Mr. and Mrs. Strode are good to her. And to me. As much as they can be

You don’t know who Judith is, and you didn’t know that his mom had died, and you want to ask because you want to know more about Michael, but with the tense way he’s holding himself, you don’t. The words die in your mouth and on your hands, because as determined to open up as Michael seems to be, even this tiny bit, you can see that this is a sore subject for him.

It’s best to ease off. At least until he’s ready to share more.

 _‘Both my parents died when I was young,’_ you sign. If he can share then so can you, because you’re friends and friendship is a two-way street after all. If nothing else, fair is fair. _‘I was raised by my grandma until she died. Then I was passed around from relative to relative because no one wanted to deal with me.’_

You hadn’t realized how closely the two of you were sitting this whole time, practically leaning towards each other, until you look up and find Michael’s attention focused on you instead of the screens.

 _‘And then I ended up here.’_ You offer up a smile. _‘I don’t know her, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad Boo has good parents.’_

Something in Michael’s eyes softens and he writes out something else.
    
    
    I’m glad you’re here

(Your heart clenches and twists.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Glam, here is a small playlist of songs that Michael listens to the most. (I hope y'all don't mind that it's links to youtube.) If any of the links don't work for whatever reason, please let me know and I'll try to find one that works!
> 
> 1\. [Ghost - Cirice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0Ao4t_fe0I)  
> 2\. [Judas Priest - Battle Hymn/One Shot at Glory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhvUpykF7OM)  
> 3\. [The Misfits - Lost in Space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjZVHY6UIBA)  
> 4\. [The Platters - Only You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4X2Zc9rCTH8)  
> 5\. [Rob Zombie - Dragula](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOctyXxCm-4)  
> 6\. [Megadeth - Holy Wars... The Punishment Due](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5o8Daw1ZsY)  
> 7\. [King Diamond - Abigail](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnNtYA5PjhU)  
> 8\. [Ghost - Square Hammer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqoyKzgkqR4)  
> 9\. [The Ink Spots - I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f1PH6RZ4pM)  
> 10\. [Sam Cooke - Chain Gang](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rlUpgGwR79o)


End file.
